“That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. I love you—with all my heart and soul. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. At length, I shall ascertain my name. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead.
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